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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828477">I Am Weak and I Am Wanting</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscure_ramblings/pseuds/Obscure_ramblings'>Obscure_ramblings</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Witcher - Fandom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure &amp; Romance, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Battle, Bisexual Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Bruxae (The Witcher), Chaptered, Comeplay, Complete, Developing Relationship, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Romance, F/M, Female Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Genderbending, Geralt is a woman, Geraskier, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Monsters, Mythical Beings &amp; Creatures, Noonwraith, Oral Sex, Pegging, Pining, Roach Ships It (The Witcher), Roach is the Best (The Witcher), Sassy Jaskier | Dandelion, Scent Kink, Switching, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Vaginal Sex, Witcher Signs (The Witcher), Witchers Have Feelings (The Witcher), and a badass</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:54:11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>18,648</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25828477</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Obscure_ramblings/pseuds/Obscure_ramblings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"A tattered white wedding dress draped over a ghastly form comprising loose yellowish skin stretched over bone, and a dark void of a mouth consuming more than its fair share of space on the woman’s face. She disappeared momentarily, then manifested again right next to Jaskier. The bard felt a bony hand grip his arm and then he was stamping his feet and clapping his hands, lute discarded along with his satchel as he danced alongside the weary farmer and the horrifying wraith who controlled them. A cry for help left his lips and echoed across the field."</p><p>Jaskier is bespelled by a noonwraith into dancing himself to death and female!Geralt comes to the rescue. She delivers him safely to a nearby town and departs, assuming that's the last she will see of the dark-haired bard with the enticing rosin-and-honey scent. But their paths will cross again.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>45</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>133</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I saw <a href="https://fantasticfables.tumblr.com/post/621103872498401280">this post</a> on Tumblr with Geralt filtered through Faceapp as a woman and it DID THINGS TO ME OKAY *chest heaves*. I've been thinking about it for the last week. Like. A lot.</p><p>Sooooooo I told myself after I finally finished What's Your Damage that I'd do some simple one-shots and eventually work up to another chaptered fic. And yet, when I woke up at  one effing a.m. this morning with the first 1,000ish words of this already plotted out and no chance of sleep until I had written them down, it turned into this beast! I've got the next two chapters already underway and just like last time, no set finish or idea about the total number of chapters. Why do I do this to myself??</p><p>Mature rating for now but will definitely venture into explicit territory once our witcher and her bard spend more time together. Watch the tags for updates too - and ask to tag if you spot something I've missed. 100% unoriginal title which also may change if I think of something that fits better. But for now, I am weak for female Geralt and I am wanting her to get it on in all kinds of fun ways with the lovely and sassy Jaskier. So here it is.</p><p>If you like what you read, be sure to hit that kudos button and send me comments! Comments make me continue to want to get up at 1 am to write more Geraskier. Enable me, lovely readers! I love you and your keysmashes and mentions of your favourite lines and pretty much everything comment-related, really :-D. Updates approximately every fortnight.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Strolling through the sun-dappled light that filtered between the branches above him, Jaskier alternated between humming to himself and trying out lyrics, callused fingers dancing across the strings of his lute. His jade green doublet lay open, revealing the soft mint chemise that lay beneath, loosely laced with curly dark hair spilling over the neckline. Dark brown boots wrapped around his lower legs, well-muscled from years spent walking from town to town to ply his craft as a bard.</p><p>As Jaskier reached the edge of the forest and stepped into an open section of land, the sun shone down on him and he tipped his head back to enjoy the warmth on his face. A smile crossed his face and he sang a little louder, “I'm weak, my love, and I am wanting.”</p><p>A breeze picked up, swirling across the grain that rustled around his legs. Jaskier felt an odd shiver pass over him, breaking the pleasant mood that had accompanied him thus far this morning. He heard an odd moan interrupted by feet stamping out a rhythm and looked to his right. Across the field was an aged farmer, tall frame topped with grizzled grey hair, circling a haystack in what appeared to be a ritual dance of some sort. The farmer was clearly not enjoying himself, groaning as he moved, yet the jerky motions of his body never ceased. </p><p>Concerned by the noises issuing from the man, Jaskier approached. When he was just a few feet from the haystack he called out, “Are you all right?”</p><p>The man turned towards him, eyes blown wide with terror and mouth hanging open as he gasped for air, feet never ceasing their movement as he bobbed and weaved. He drew in a breath and panted out a single word: “Run!” </p><p>As Jaskier halted, unsure whether to try again to render aid to the clearly struggling man, a second form appeared around the edge of the haystack. A tattered white wedding dress draped over a ghastly form comprising loose yellowish skin stretched over bone, and a dark void of a mouth consuming more than its fair share of space on the woman’s face. She disappeared momentarily, then manifested again right next to Jaskier. The bard felt a bony hand grip his arm and then he was stamping his feet and clapping his hands, lute discarded along with his satchel as he danced alongside the weary farmer and the horrifying wraith who controlled them. A cry for help left his lips and echoed across the field.</p><p>***</p><p>Geralt had been scouting for the noonwraith for the past two days. The spectre appeared only when the sun was at its peak, dancing in fields and drawing farmers and passers-by under her spell so they had no choice but to join the dance, which continued well beyond what human endurance could accommodate, resulting in their death from exhaustion. The cloud and drizzling rain of the past two days had kept the noonwraith at bay, testing Geralt’s patience as she waited for the sun to reappear, and the wraith along with it.</p><p>The alderman of the nearest town hadn’t quibbled at the price Geralt named when she accepted the contract, a sign of how desperate he was to deal with the wraith. The loss of several farmers living on the outskirts of the town had been bad enough, but then last week the alderman’s nephew and his retinue had been travelling to visit the town and the whole group of six was caught up in the wraith’s compulsive dance. Their corpses, oddly desiccated from lack of hydration, throats bubbling with bloody foam from fruitless screams and feet blistered and raw from dancing through their shoes, had been discovered the following day when the alderman sent out a search party. </p><p>He had immediately posted a call for a witcher to avenge the lives cut short. The sorceress who projected the call had been strong, the message easily reaching over a day’s ride distant to be intercepted by Geralt where she knelt at the side of a swamp, recovering after dispatching a kikimore. Sweeping back the long sheaf of pale hair that had broken free of the tie restraining it during her battle with the monster, Geralt stood and retrieved the scrap of parchment from the small amethyst flame that held the sorceress’s message. The miniature portal winked out when the paper was removed. Geralt’s golden eyes flashed as she read, then she turned abruptly and lifted her sword to remove the kikimore’s head.</p><p>Returning to the group of villagers who lived adjacent and had pooled their resources to pay for a witcher to deal with the kikimore, Geralt had handed over the head as proof of contract fulfillment, and claimed the coin pouch, then swiftly mounted Roach and steered the horse in the direction of the sorceress’s call.</p><p>Now that the sun had finally broken through the cloud cover for the first time since her arrival in town, by mid-morning Geralt had picketed Roach in a nearby copse of trees and positioned herself to stake out the field where the alderman’s nephew and the other corpses had been discovered. She gripped the handle of her silver sword in her right hand. The blade glistened, coated with a layer of spectre oil to ensure its efficacy. Her left hand remained free, ready to cast Yrden and trap the noonwraith in physical form so she could dispatch it. </p><p>Hours passed as Geralt waited, extending her enhanced senses to scan the field for any sign of the wraith. The day was still, with no breeze to stir scents up and provide olfactory clues as to the spectre’s whereabouts, but as midday approached Geralt kept a close watch, golden eyes sharp with attention, and ears tuned to the slightest sound that might give away the noonwraith’s presence.</p><p>A sudden cry ululating across the field caught Geralt’s attention. She moved swiftly, powerful legs propelling her muscled form away from the copse of trees, past several more clumps of greenery and out into a wide, flat expanse of a barley field, broken only by a haystack heaped near a cart. Geralt’s keen eyes picked out three figures moving around the haystack, one clearly the noonwraith in physical form, her ripped and torn bridal attire fluttering around her bony form as she danced, and two humans, the first an older man who appeared close to collapse, the other man perhaps in his mid-twenties, dark-haired and leanly muscled, moving energetically in counterpoint to his cries for help.</p><p>Geralt wasted no time charging closer, casting Yrden as soon as she was within range. As the force of the sign released from her body and formed a circle of pale purple lightening, trapping the spectre inside it, the spell broke and the two men collapsed, chests heaving as they sucked in desperately needed air. The noonwraith screeched in anger, spinning to face Geralt and rushing at her, only to bounce off the circle of Yrden that contained her. The barrier being no impediment to witchers, Geralt easily reached in with her sword and lopped off the wraith’s head with a single, powerful stroke, biceps flexing under her armour with the movement. </p><p>She turned to survey the men. The older one moaned weakly, crying dry sobs that were all he could produce owing to lack of hydration. The younger man appeared in better shape, whether due to his age and physical fitness or because the noonwraith’s spell had captured him more recently, Geralt wasn’t sure. He was already recovering his breath, rubbing at his legs as he shuffled carefully over to reach for the older man. Looking up at Geralt with wide, cornflower blue eyes, he panted out a brief request, “Water?”</p><p>Geralt looked around and spotted a satchel, discarded next to a lute off to the side of the haystack. A half-full water flask was strapped to the satchel and she retrieved it, handing it over to the younger man. “Here,” she said gruffly, “Don’t drink too much or too fast, or you’ll vomit it right back up again.” </p><p>Leaving the two men to divvy up the much-needed liquid, Geralt returned to the wraith’s body and examined it. The already crumbing decay of the remains was evidence that the combination of spectre oil and beheading had been effective. She extracted a leather wrapper from under the braces that held her sword sheaths across her back, and rolled the head into it, securing the bundle with a tie and strapping it to her belt.</p><p>"Thank you. You saved us.” Geralt looked over at the dark-haired man, who was already looking much improved after the few minutes of rest and hydration. The blood staining the ground around the older man’s feet was indication enough that he would need further care. She glanced back at the younger man, nodding in acknowledgement of his thanks.</p><p>“He won’t be able to walk for a while. Do you know him, or where he lives?” Geralt asked. Receiving a shake of the head in answer, she sighed. “Can you walk?”</p><p>The younger man stood carefully, wincing as his muscles contracted. “Oof. Yes, but not far, I think.” </p><p>Geralt surveyed him critically, then decided he was steady enough. She turned to the older man and in a single, fluid motion, heaved him up and over her left shoulder, ensuring she positioned him away from the handles of her sheathed swords and the leather-wrapped bundle of the noonwraith’s head. “This way,” she said, as she began to walk back to the trees where Roach waited.</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier gaped momentarily at the show of pure strength the white-haired woman had just displayed, then shook himself. He stepped gingerly around the wraith’s remains to fetch his satchel and lute, inspecting the instrument for any damage that may have occurred when he’d discarded it so carelessly. Seeing it looked none the worse for wear, he let out a sigh of relief. Looking up, he realised he was in danger of being left behind, as the tall form of the women strode across the field, bearing the weight of the grey-haired farmer as if it was of little consequence. </p><p>Moving as quickly as he dared, Jaskier called out, “Wait for me!” The soles of his feet ached and he was grateful for the extra coin he’d spent last winter to purchase good-quality boots that fit him well. Had he gone the cheaper route and bought a more ill-fitted pair, he had no doubt his feet would be in much worse shape.</p><p>The woman had paused, allowing Jaskier time to catch up, then resumed her march, albeit at a slightly slower pace to accommodate him. Jaskier was unsure how long he’d been dancing but judging by the position of the sun, which beamed down upon him from high in the sky, it had been at least two hours. The farmer looked to have been bespelled for at least twice that, if his poor, abused feet were any indication.</p><p>“I’m Jaskier.” He directed his introduction at both of them, garnering a nod from the woman and no visible response from the farmer. </p><p>“Geralt,” the woman replied shortly.</p><p>“Thanks again for rescuing us. What was that creature?”</p><p>“Noonwraith.” Geralt grunted her reply. Giving up on that line of questioning, Jaskier rested a hand on the man’s arm that was nearest to him and tilted his head to meet his gaze. “Are you okay? Geralt is taking us to safety. I’ll stay with you until we can find a healer, if you like.”</p><p>The farmer whispered out a quiet, “Thanks,” then closed his eyes and went completely limp.</p><p>“Passed out,” Jaskier observed. “Geralt, how far is it to the nearest town? I’m not sure my legs are up for much more travelling today, after that little incident.” He rubbed at his thighs, which were letting him know in no uncertain terms that they were in need of a long, hot soak and a decent stretch of sleep. He wondered how large the town was, and whether there would be an inn with decent bathing facilities. </p><p>Geralt quirked an eyebrow at Jaskier’s choice of phrasing for his near-death experience, but replied, “It’s not far. My horse is in those trees,” she made a pained expression, then blew out a quick breath and offered, “You can ride her back. I’ll strap this one to the saddle. There should be room for both of you.”</p><p>“Thank you,” Jaskier said again. They walked in silence for a minute or two, Jaskier looking over at Geralt and making note of her appearance. “So, you’re a witcher? I mean, going by the swords and armour, and your general…physique.”</p><p>“Yes,” she replied. As Jaskier opened his mouth to question her further, she cut a sharp look his way. “Save your breath. I have no interest in spilling my life story. I’m not looking to get to know you. We will travel together to the town, I will leave this man with a healer, turn over the noonwraith’s head to the alderman and claim my compensation, then we will part ways.”</p><p>Silenced by her tone, Jaskier dropped behind Geralt as they reached the edge of the forest and wound through the trees, making their way towards the bay mare with the white blaze between her eyes, who stood munching on some grass. He looked down at his feet, following where the white-haired witcher led and keeping his mouth firmly shut.</p><p>***</p><p>Geralt ran her hand down Roach’s nose and breathed in a lungful of the horse’s familiar scent. Noonwraiths reeked of decay and death, and the stench always put Geralt in a terrible mood. She placed the grey-haired man on the ground nearby, where he lolled, still unconscious, then turned to Jaskier, gesturing him forward. “Roach, stay,” she commanded. Roach wasn’t fond of bearing unfamiliar riders but she would put up with it if Geralt was firm about it. </p><p>Jaskier had stowed his lute back in its case as they walked, looping the strap over his head and adjusting it so it lay flat, criss-crossed over the similar dark leather strap of his satchel. Geralt now moved to rearrange both items so they were positioned across his front, then said shortly, “I’ll help you mount.” She formed a cup with her hands, waiting for Jaskier to place a foot in it so she could boost him on to Roach’s back. </p><p>When he was in position, Geralt extracted a length of rope from one of Roach’s saddlebags, then picked up the unconscious man and positioned him behind Jaskier, binding them together with the rope so he wouldn’t fall off. She crossed the stirrups over the front of the saddle, guessing that Jaskier’s feet would be too sore to benefit from the additional security of position that they provided.</p><p>Glancing around quickly to make sure nothing had been left behind, Geralt gathered the reins below Roach’s head and clicked her tongue to signal to the horse that it was time to move.</p><p>They walked for a good five minutes before Geralt noticed a lessening in the stench of the spectre, although the head strapped to her belt still caused her nostrils to quiver when it knocked against her thickly muscled thigh as she moved. Drawing in a deep breath of clean air, Geralt savoured the scent palate that accompanied it. The stale sweat emanating from both men after their exertion during the noonwraith’s dance was overlaid with the familiar horsey scent of Roach’s coat and the sweet, blowsy wildflowers that grew in sunny patches scattered through the forest.</p><p>She also detected an intriguing odour that caused a stirring in her lower belly. Rosin and honey. Judging by the lute case, Jaskier could be the source. Feeling Jaskier’s stare focused on her, Geralt met his eyes, gold and blue clashing as her witcher senses rose to the fore at the challenge in his gaze. “Would it be too much of an imposition to ask how far we have to go?” Jaskier asked in a sarcastic tone, clearly still hurt by the harsh words she’d uttered earlier. </p><p>Geralt looked ahead to judge the distance to the town, estimating their current pace, “Another twenty minutes,” she said, tracking Jaskier’s movements as he reached a hand down to massage a muscle that was twitching in his left thigh, apparently trying to stave off a cramp. </p><p>“Ah.” </p><p>As Jaskier’s face tightened in pain and he sucked in a breath through his teeth, Geralt considered her options. Stopping so he could walk it off would take too long, considering the unconscious form bound to his back. Looping the reins loosely over her shoulder, she clicked to Roach once more to encourage the horse to keep moving, then slowed her pace a little until she was even with Jaskier’s knee. “Let me,” she said, removing a glove and tucking it under her other arm before laying her bare hand on his leg. As her strong fingers circled the tight knot of muscle in his thigh, Jaskier let out a short yelp of pain upon initial contact, then, as her strong fingers kneaded his leg through his trousers, massaging the cramp away, he exhaled a sigh. </p><p>Geralt kept the movement up, subtly inhaling the sweet pheromones Jaskier was exuding, until the knot was completely gone. The rosin-and-honey scent definitely originated from him. Its potency strengthened as he enjoyed the sensation of her massage bringing him relief from the pain of the cramp. Geralt became aware that she was leaning close to savour the lungfuls of his intoxicating scent, and quickly released her grip on his thigh, pulling her glove back on as she moved to walk by Roach’s head once more.</p><p>“You have my thanks again,” Jaskier said.</p><p>“Hmm,” she replied.</p><p>***</p><p>Hand covering the warm spot on his thigh where Geralt’s own had recently laid, Jaskier found himself in the unusual position of being lost for words. His tenure as a bard had lent him the capacity to talk for hours about anything and everything, but Geralt’s cutting tone and harsh words had cut that avenue off. </p><p>The witcher’s actions confused Jaskier—the sharp demand that he cease talking, followed by the perceptive awareness of his discomfort and swift yet gentle remedy she’d applied to address it. Under other circumstances, someone massaging his thigh would be a clear indication of their interest, but Geralt had given no sign that the action had been anything other than medicinal. Did witchers even feel arousal, he wondered?</p><p>He looked at Geralt, tracing the strong lines of her frame as she walked ahead of him. Her thigh muscles bunched and released as she walked and the curve of her buttocks above them was outlined by the tight black breeches that shifted with her movements. A solid waist led up to a defined back, framed by the swords that crossed over it, topped with shoulders and arms that clearly had the power to wield those weapons effectively. Her long, pale hair seemed to be her one concession to vanity, tied half up to keep it out of her eyes but otherwise flowing free across her shoulders. It looked soft. Jaskier wondered what it would feel like if he ran a hand through its length.</p><p>Geralt suddenly stiffened, glaring back over her shoulder at Jaskier with those golden eyes, nostrils flaring as she breathed in. Jaskier’s arousal died immediately at the quelling look she directed at him and he jerked his gaze away, pretending to study the birds flying over their heads. When he looked back down, Geralt had turned to face forwards once more but the tense lines of her shoulder conveyed her mood readily enough. </p><p>Behind him, the farmer stirred, letting out a pitiful moan as he returned to consciousness. Jaskier reached back to pat the man’s knee, saying a soothing tone, “Hang in there, friend, we’re not far from town now and Geralt has promised to find a healer to take a look at you.”</p><p>“Water,” the man gasped out, still evidently dehydrated from the time he’d spent dancing under the spectre’s spell. Jaskier extracted his water flask, which contained a final few sips of liquid, and held it up over his shoulder to where the man’s head rested against him. The farmer swallowed greedily, draining the flask dry, then slumped once more, not unconscious this time but still in the kind of stupor that spoke of deep exhaustion. </p><p>“What’s your name?” Jaskier enquired.</p><p>“Mort,” replied the man in a quiet voice.</p><p>Forgoing any further questions, Jaskier again assured Mort that they didn’t have far to travel. He spoke of how good it would feel to bathe in a tub full of hot water, eat a simple supper washed down with plenty more cool water and lie down on clean sheets to rest. As he spoke, they rounded a slight bend in the road and the outskirts of the town came into view. </p><p>***</p><p>The gentle tone of Jaskier’s voice washed over Geralt, describing all the simple comforts the witcher herself desired after her monster hunts but so rarely received. Although Jaskier’s words were clearly aimed at calming Mort, Geralt felt herself responding too, relaxing the muscles that had tensed when she'd scented Jaskier’s arousal earlier. </p><p>The heavy clip-clop of Roach’s hooves changed in tenor as they moved from the hard-packed earth of the trail on to the cobblestones of the town’s main street. The alderman was waiting for them outside his offices, a pinched expression on his face as he took in the approaching trio. Several other townsfolk had gathered to stand with him, and one of them cried out “Mort!” and ran towards them.</p><p>The farmer lifted his head wearily and grasped the hand she held out to him. “Patricia,” he sighed. “I’m alright, thanks to Geralt here.” The witcher moved to untie the rope that bound the men together, then lifted Mort off Roach’s back and seated him on a nearby wooden bench, where Patricia and several other people clustered around to care for him. </p><p>Geralt tied Roach to a nearby hitching post, then removed the noonwraith’s wrapped head from her belt and gave the alderman a significant look as she lifted it. He nodded once and signalled for her to follow him inside, correctly intuiting that Geralt was hesitating to show the head in front of the several children who had joined the crowd around Mort. </p><p>They walked in silence across the floor and into the alderman’s private office, where he seated himself behind the desk. Geralt waited for an invitation to sit too, and when none was forthcoming, she seated herself anyway. The alderman settled a pair of spectacles on his nose, then peered down his nose at her. </p><p>Geralt curled a lip in response to his superior stare, then thumped the noonwraith’s head onto the desk between them. She whipped the ties off and unrolled the leather, displaying the decaying but still mostly intact skull for his inspection. The look of horror and retching that followed made Geralt smile grimly. She rewrapped the head and stated firmly, “The contract is fulfilled on my part.” </p><p>Looking rather green and unsettled, the alderman wiped his brow and said, “Well, yes. Here you are then.” He handed over a money pouch and followed it with a slightly worried-sounding enquiry, “You’ll take that with you, won’t you? The…head?”</p><p>Geralt counted the coin to be sure he hadn’t short-changed her, then inclined her head in agreement, gathering up the leather bundle and moving to exit the office. Striding across the floor, she swung open the door and looked towards where she’d tied Roach, frowning as she noted Jaskier still astride the mare. “What are you doing? Roach is not your pack horse.”</p><p>“Ah, yes, as much as I truly appreciate her efforts in carrying me here, I’m also rather keen to remove myself from her back. However, it seems my muscles have seized up somewhat, leaving me…stuck.” Jaskier replied, gesturing to underscore his dilemma.</p><p>“Hmmm,” Geralt grunted. She approached him and laid a gloved hand on his leg, feeling where the muscles were as tense as granite. “All right,” she decided.</p><p>Unhitching Roach, she led the mare further along the street to an inn, flipping a coin to a boy dressed in the slightly ragged getup indicative of urban poverty, with a request that he fetch the innkeeper. “Do you have enough coin to cover the costs of that bath, meal and bed you were describing to Mort?” she asked Jaskier. At his slightly sheepish expression, she sighed and dug into the pouch she’d received from the alderman.</p><p>The innkeeper, a whip-thin woman with brown hair tied back in a loose bun that flopped to the side, followed the street boy out the door of the building and over to greet them, her eyes not missing the heavy money pouch in Geralt’s grip. “Welcome! I’m Shara and this is my inn. Will you be needing a room for the night, or perhaps longer?”</p><p>Geralt corrected her: “For him. Three nights. A bath and dinner tray in the room too.” She counted out the correct number of silvers Shara quoted and handed them over, then tucked the much-lighter coin purse back into her belt. </p><p>Geralt looked up at Jaskier. “This will hurt. Take a breath.” She reached up to pull him off Roach’s back.</p><p>Jaskier complied, hissing as his tight muscles protested the movement, “Ahhh!” As his legs hit the ground they threatened to buckle, only Geralt’s grip on him preventing a fall. “Ohhhhh owwwww,” he moaned as the pins-and-needles sensation overtook him and he swallowed hard to avoid regurgitating the water he’d drunk on the ride here.</p><p>“Hmmm,” Geralt’s mouth flattened. She reached into her money pouch once more and flipped another coin to the street boy, saying, “Watch my horse. I’ll be back shortly.” She swung Jaskier up into her arms and followed Shara into the inn and up a set of wooden stairs that sagged in the middle from the tread of countless feet. They reached the room at the end of the hall and entered, Geralt placing Jaskier on the bed while the innkeeper bustled around organising a maid to get the bath ready. </p><p>Turning to leave, Geralt found her hand caught in Jaskier’s grip. “Thank you, Geralt. For everything. I owe you my life.” Jaskier spoke with deep sincerity, gently squeezing her fingers to reinforce his statement.</p><p>“You owe me nothing. There is no debt. Our paths will not cross again.” Geralt extracted her hand from his and walked out the door. She mounted Roach and pressed her legs around the mare’s sides, encouraging her into a walk and pointing her to head back out of town.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter Two</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Resources running low two weeks after she defeated the noonwraith, Geralt is once more sleeping rough on the road. She heads north for Oxenfurt to replenish her supplies, diverting on the way to take a contract for a group of bruxae.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Once again, I'm not entirely how I ended up at this point in the story! The first chapter basically wrote itself and I had some thoughts about how this chapter would go, including perhaps some actual interaction between witcher and bard - but then my mind did a little sideways boogie and put forth this battle-focused scene. So fair warning that Jaskier does not feature in this installment; it's presented fully from Geralt's POV. However, I do have a chunk of the next chapter underway, and that features alternating POV between Jaskier and Geralt, including some face-to-face time (TBC whether that also includes face-on-face time, but I'm hoping for yes *crosses fingers*).</p><p>As always, please leave me a comment if you enjoyed this! I love this fandom and I love every one of you who takes the time to read and comment on my fics; your enthusiasm absolutely helps to stoke my motivation to keep writing and sharing my fics!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Freed of her tack, Roach rolled vigorously on her back in a patch of dust, then hauled herself to her feet and shook herself out from head to tail. She snorted once, then walked towards a patch of lush green grass studded with dandelions, cropping a mouthful and munching happily as Geralt set up their camp for the evening.</p><p>In the two weeks since the noonwraith, contracts had been in short supply. With funds getting low, Geralt was once more sleeping rough on the road. Yesterday she’d heard rumour of a town a day-and-a-half’s ride north, on the way to Oxenfurt, that had a pack of bruxae needing to be dispatched. Although she generally avoided larger cities where possible, Geralt was running low on supplies for her potions, and Oxenfurt would be a good place to replenish them.</p><p>Sighing, she extracted Roach’s brushes from one of the saddlebags and gave the horse some much-needed attention, rotating the currycomb in small circles to help loosen the last of Roach’s winter coat. The mare’s sleek bay coat shone through when the shaggy thicker layer of winter hair had been removed, and she gave a shiver of pleasure. “It was getting itchy, hmmm?” Geralt said. Roach tossed her head in agreement, having long ago learned to respond as such to this questioning tone of voice.</p><p>Laughing quietly, Geralt whisked the last of the loose hair away with the dandy brush. “All right, off you go.” She left Roach to wander the clearing in search of the sweetest patches of grass, knowing her faithful travel companion wouldn’t go far. Rinsing her hands off in a small trickle of water from her waterskin, Geralt stowed the brushes and pulled open a different saddlebag, compiling a mental list of the ingredients she’d need to procure once the bruxae had been dealt with. Honeysuckle for White Honey, berbercane for Cat, mandrake and hellebore for several different potions. Unless this contract paid well enough for her to afford them at the Oxenfurt apothecary or markets, she’d have to travel much further afield to hunt out the ingredients in the wild. At least late spring would increase the odds of her finding adequate growth.</p><p>Repacking the saddlebag, Geralt picked up a pair of the leather-and-twine snares she used when she wanted to capture prey without actively hunting it down. She moved deeper into the woods, setting the traps and circling around on her way back to camp to avoid leaving too thick a scent trail. Reaching the clearing, the witcher made a meal of dried venison strips and the vegetable and mushroom paste pressed into bars that was her main source of sustenance on the road. She’d check the snares in the morning and hope for a more substantial breakfast to set her up for the day.</p><p>***</p><p>Weak morning light filtered through the branches above, illuminating Geralt’s pale hair as she tied it half up to keep it out of her way. Rolling up her sleeping pad and blanket, and glancing around to ensure she’d collected everything, Geralt buckled up the saddlebags, then stood and stretched. Her armour-covered chest thrust towards the sky as she arched her back, raising her arms above her head, the muscles in her biceps and upper back tensing then releasing as she dropped them back down to her side.</p><p>She’d slept lightly, alert to any noise that might indicate an approaching foe. As dawn stretched its first tentative feelers into the dark sky, Geralt had rolled out of her warm blankets and gone to check the snares. Although they were empty her keen sense of smell had picked out a wild bramble of rambling blackberry on her way back to camp. The sweet, juicy fruit had nicely disguised the familiar taste of the vegetable-and-mushroom paste bars that made up the rest of her morning meal.</p><p>Roach was looking well-rested and ready to resume their journey, so Geralt fastened the blankets and saddle onto her back, attaching the saddlebags at the back and slipping the bridle over Roach’s head. The horse nudged Geralt companionably, bumping against the stiff leather that covered her chest. “Once more unto the breach, dear friend,” Geralt said, giving Roach a couple of firm pats on the neck before swinging herself up into the saddle. Gathering the reins, she clicked her tongue to move Roach forward.</p><p>They wove through tall stands of trees, sharp pine scenting the air and acorns crunching underfoot where they carpeted the ground below towering, majestic oaks. Geralt’s nostrils flared as she detected the gamey odour of rabbit. “Where were you last night, when my snares were lying empty?” she grumbled as Roach picked up the pace a little, breaking clear of the forest cover. Squeezing her strongly muscled legs against Roach’s sides, Geralt moved the mare into a canter, listening to the hooves thumping rhythmically as they made their way northwards.</p><p>***</p><p>Sweat dripped down the back of Geralt’s neck, turning her already-mussed hair into a tangle that clung irritatingly to her pale skin. Bruxae were generally night-dwellers despite being unaffected by the sun—unlike many other vampire species subsets—and the townsfolk who had posted the contract she’d accepted were not willing to accept her presence within their walls while she waited for the sun to set. Decades of acclimatising to such treatment meant Geralt was left feeling slightly annoyed but not resentful, as she now simply accepted that some people would never think of witchers as anything other than horrifying mutants, briefly useful for monster hunting but best kept out of sight the rest of the time.</p><p>However, her current location, perched on top of a crumbling wall in the stifling heat of early afternoon, was testing her patience. A cold glass of ale at the tavern would have been most welcome, even if her meagre supply of coin would not stretch to cover the cost of a meal, but once she’d read through and accepted the contract the alderman had made it clear she was not to step foot within the town’s boundaries until the bruxae were dealt with. So Geralt had set up watch near an abandoned crofter’s cottage fenced in with a stone wall that was falling into disrepair.</p><p>Roach stood nearby, trying to fit her large, muscular body into the bare sliver of shade provided by the wall Geralt had mounted to survey the landscape. It had been a while since she’d encountered a bruxa, and Geralt mentally ran through what she knew of them. Vampires who spent most of their time as a bat but could transform to appear as a dark-haired youth, typically female, and were particularly agile in either form. Claws were their most dangerous weapon in close proximity, but even at a fair distance their screams were strong enough to knock down a fully grown adult. Geralt would need to be alert to ensure she could sneak up on the bruxae, determining how many there were before deciding on the best approach to deal with them.</p><p>Hours passed, the syrupy sun portending the summer soon to come, laying a haze of heat over the land. The sky was uninterrupted by even a puff of white cloud or a breath of wind. A combination of stubbornness and habitual self-flagellation kept Geralt in her uncomfortable position atop the wall, as Roach moved around, chasing the shade and lipping at the scant greenery. As the colour of the sky finally began to change, deepening into an azure blue shot with streaks of orange and pink, Geralt lifted her waterskin, only to find it empty of all but a few drops. Growling, she cast it to the ground and stood, stretching out her stiff limbs.</p><p>A movement off to her left caught Geralt’s attention, causing her to whip her head around to track its progress. The dark shape flapped once, twice, gliding briefly in her direction and giving her sufficient time to identify the wing shape as belonging to a bat—but whether it was a bruxa remained to be determined. As Geralt narrowed her eyes, focusing in an attempt to pick out any identifying marks, Roach let out a piercing whinny and stomped her hooves. Turning towards the mare, Geralt saw that a pair of bruxae in human form had come up behind her while her attention had been captured by the bat.</p><p>Casting Aard, Geralt caught one of them with the sign, knocking it over, while the other slid nimbly to the side and released a screech that sent Geralt flying backwards off the wall. She landed with a thump and a puff of dust, feeling a pop followed by screaming pain in her right shoulder. Dislocated. Fuck. Rolling into a crouch even as she processed the injury, Geralt slid her sword out of the sheath on her back, holding it in her left hand as she crab-walked along the outer edge of the wall. Reaching the edge, she peered around it, sword at the ready, and saw Roach rearing up and stomping her mighty hooves down, crushing the skull of the bruxa who had been incapacitated by the Aard sign.</p><p>A slight hiss of movement against stone had Geralt stepping back in time to intercept the slicing claws of the second bruxa. Swinging her sword around, Geralt lopped off the approaching hand, following that up with another stroke that sliced through the bruxa’s ribcage and sent it sprawling onto the ground. Raising her sword for a final thrust, Geralt found herself pulled backwards at the last second, claws digging deep into her hair as the screech of a bat echoed in her ears.</p><p>Swinging wildly with her sword arm while trying to move her dislocated right arm as little as possible, Geralt tried to fend off the bruxa in bat form. Its claws dug even deeper, rending furrows into her scalp as it flapped its wings, pulling the witcher off balance. She landed in the dust once more, the bat releasing its claws and circling for another attack as Geralt hauled herself up far enough to get a knee underneath her. She cast Yrden, trapping the bat in a crackling circle of purplish light. As it fluttered its wings against the barrier, she thrust her sword upwards in a strong movement that pierced through the bruxa’s underbelly and halted the shriek that had begun to erupt from its throat.</p><p>Drawing her sword back, which released a stinking mass of blood and viscera from the bat’s insides, Geralt spun to stalk over to the remaining bruxa, glimpses of the silver sword flashing between the streaks of gore as it severed the vampire’s head. She listened intently, tracking all the noises of the early evening as she sought to detect the sound of additional bruxae that may be waiting to attack in a further wave of shrieks and razor-sharp claws. When all remained still other than Roach’s snorting breaths, Geralt released a harsh breath of pain and leaned her sword against the wall. Grasping her right wrist in her left hand, she gritted her teeth and lifted sharply upwards as she simultaneously twisted her torso under and around. The hollow thunk of her shoulder sliding back into its socket caused a wave of nausea to flow through Geralt and she took several deep breaths to ward it off.</p><p>A low groan of pain issued from her throat as she reached to grasp her sword once more, the sleeve of her shirt flapping loose where it had been torn during her collision with the ground and subsequent fight with the bruxae. Turning, she kicked something that made a dull clang as it connected with the wall. Looking down, Geralt saw her empty water flask. “Fuck,” she cursed. Forget the ale she’d been wishing for earlier, a sip of fresh water for her parched throat was the absolute pinnacle of desire right now. She reached down carefully, trying not to jostle her shoulder, and picked up the flask.</p><p>Walking over to Roach, she tucked the flask into a saddlebag and sighed, giving the mare a pat on the shoulder. “You did well, Roach.” The mare snorted her agreement and lipped at Geralt’s hair, unintentionally tugging at the torn strands that overlay the deep cuts from the bruxa bat’s talons. The witcher winced, then leaned against her horse’s shoulder and sighed. This would be a long night of waiting to see if any further bruxae materialised, undertaking what basic first aid her supplies would allow for, while she remained in position to fulfil the terms of her contract.</p><p>***</p><p>Each step Roach took jolted Geralt’s shoulder and head anew, buffeting her with wave after wave of pain. The sneering alderman had met her at the town boundary shortly after dawn, curling his lip up at her roughly field-dressed wounds and simply throwing the money pouch at her feet, foregoing any form of thanks. Knowing that asking after a healer would likely draw a laugh of scorn rather than an offer of aid, Geralt stiffly reached down to collect the coin and turned her back on the town without a word. Golden eyes blazing with emotion, she strode down the road, head held high and strongly muscled form stiff-backed as she led Roach behind her.</p><p>As soon as they were out of sight of the town, Geralt let her posture collapse inward as she surrendered to the aches and pains. Taking a few deep breaths, she extended her senses, trying to tease out the scent or sound of water from her surroundings, and turned Roach to follow a small deer track through a meadow and into a stand of trees. After walking for several minutes, the pair reached a trickle of a stream that meandered gently through some rocks, pooling a little wider in some areas where natural barriers of sticks and stones formed small dams. It smelled fresh and untainted so Geralt scooped greedy mouthfuls of the cool liquid, standing slightly upstream from Roach as the mare also drank her fill. </p><p>When Roach had finished and moved off in search of grass, Geralt extracted a few items from the saddlebags and began treating her injuries more thoroughly. The strip torn from the bottom of her shirt that she’d wrapped around her head as a makeshift bandage, was crusted with dark, dried blood, and the rabbit snares she’d tied together and repurposed as a sling were doing little to support her shoulder.</p><p>Removing her sword harness and armour, Geralt unbuttoned her shirt and gingerly peeled it off, leaving her top half covered only by the tight band of linen that contained her breasts, keeping them from bouncing about overmuch while she rode and fought. Her shoulder area was an angry red and a wide section of skin near the top had dust and gravel embedded in it from her impact against the ground. Cleaning the wound with a piece of cloth dipped in water and a sliver of hard soap, Geralt hissed through her teeth as she scrubbed at the abraded flesh. When the worst of the debris was gone, she applied a thin layer of healing salve made with chamomile and other herbs that had the added benefit of dulling pain. </p><p>The pain had ebbed now that Geralt was still and she knew from experience that her shoulder would heal without leaving a mark, given enough time. Leaving her shirt off to give the salve time to dry, Geralt turned her attention to her scalp. Peering at her reflection in a still section of the water, she considered the wounds. It looked as if her head had been torn into with a plough, leaving deep, uneven lines of red and torn flesh scoring the surface on both sides. Her white hair was a tangled nest of blood, dirt and who knew what other foul substances, torn away from her scalp in patches. The barest barrier of clear skin above Geralt’s right ear made her realise how close she’d come to having the top sheared off.</p><p>Mouth twisting at the sight, Geralt realised the injury was beyond the basic medical skills she possessed. She would need to reach Oxenfurt and engage the services of a healer. Wrapping her head in another strip of linen torn from her shirt, which was already beyond repair, Geralt pulled on a fresh shirt and strapped her sword harness directly over the top, lashing her armour to the saddle instead of struggling to reinstate it over her shoulder. Refilling her water flasks, she mounted Roach and pointed the mare northward.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter Three</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Geralt?!” she heard, the surprise of hearing her name jolting her back to awareness as she fought to focus on the face in front of her. Dark hair cut close around the ears and curling over the brow, a straight nose, pink lips slightly parted and framed by laugh lines, a strong, clean-shaven chin. Her brain was still working sluggishly but another lungful of his scent confirmed his identity.</p><p>“You,” she said in a low growl.</p><p>“Me,” replied Jaskier.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Our bard and our witcher, reunited once more!</p><p>I've got about a third of the next chapter written and am hoping to have more of an idea of how many chapters this will be in total by the time I've got that done. As always, I love hearing from you in the comments! Thanks so much to everyone who has left kind words already; I truly appreciate it!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier stretched luxuriously. The wonderfully soft linens encasing his limbs and decadent silk night shirt laced loosely over the dark thatch of curls on his chest left him with no doubt as to his current location. Although he preferred to spend his days on the road, plying his craft as a bard, the residence the Lettenhove family kept in Oxenfurt was always open to him. The title of Viscount de Lettenhove that Jaskier, better known to his family as Julian Alfred Pankrantz, had relinquished meant he no longer called the place his own, but family ties were deep enough that he could count on being able to recuperate here.</p><p>Just over two weeks since he’d been drawn under the noonwraith’s spell and then rescued by the white-haired witcher, and Jaskier hadn’t been able to get Geralt out of his head. Despite the fact that she’d spoken perhaps a dozen words to him in total, most of them harsh and cutting, the sound of her low-pitched voice entered into his dreams, and the remembered feel of her strong fingers massaging the cramp in his thigh and lifting him effortlessly off the horse’s back gave those dreams a decidedly sexy slant. Still, as Geralt had said to him, there was little chance their paths would cross in the future.</p><p>With his strong legs and sturdy body adapted to life on the road, Jaskier had made a relatively swift recovery from the time dancing in the field to the noonwraith’s tune. He’d stayed the paid-in-advance three nights in the town where Geralt had deposited him, then hitched a ride on a horse-drawn cart, which allowed him to reach Oxenfurt swiftly without putting more strain on his sore limbs.</p><p>Since his return to the family residence Jaskier had been enjoying the luxury of a soft bed and a guaranteed three square meals a day. He knew himself well and was aware that in a few days, or a couple of weeks at best, his feet would start itching for the road and the next adventure. But for now, Jaskier enjoyed another long minute of wallowing on the pillowy soft mattress before he flung back the covers and went to dress. The delicious savoury scent of breakfast food wafting up the stairs was calling to him.</p><p>***</p><p>Witchers were, by necessity, strong and able to bear a great deal of physical discomfort. But a day and a night on the road, pausing only to give Roach a rest and a chance to crop some grass while Geralt sank to the ground and tried to move as little as possible so as to avoid jostling her injuries, had left her unusually woolly-headed. Worse, she felt as if an ifrit were curling around her neck, breathing fire and steam onto her skin. Her water flask, which she continued to reach for long after it had been emptied, taunted her with the lack of cool relief pouring from the spout each time she raised it to her mouth.</p><p>Finally reaching Oxenfurt brought little relief, as Geralt then had to locate an inn that wouldn’t simply throw her out on sight. Despite the fever gnawing at her focus, she located a reasonably priced inn not far from the gates, which she’d stayed at a couple of years ago. Life had taught Geralt that being close to an exit was always a better choice than the convenience of accommodation right in the centre of a town. Turning Roach over to a stableboy, Geralt hefted her saddlebags over her shoulder and growled out a request for directions to the nearest healer.</p><p>The boy’s stuttered answer and wide-eyed stare hadn’t been much help so Geralt turned her back on him and made her way back out of the stable, choosing a direction at random in hopes it would lead to the town centre. Scowling around her to dissuade any passers-by from staring, she fought to maintain a steady pace while staying alert for potential dangers.</p><p>Several minutes passed. As her vision sparkled and spun a little at the edges, Geralt released a growl of frustration that had a pair of young men scurrying out of her way. Just how large was this city, anyway? Surely by now she should have come across at least one distinctive cross symbol that marked healers’ residences.</p><p>Her usual cat-like reflexes now dulled as she focused on not giving in to the desire to simply sink to the ground and sleep, Geralt surrendered to instinct. A beguiling scent caught her attention and she veered around a corner, using a convenient wall to prop herself up as she walked along an alleyway and emerged into what was clearly one of the more prosperous areas of the city.</p><p>Following the heady fragrance, which seemed so familiar but which she was unable to place, Geralt stumbled a little as she progressed forwards. Turning another corner, she collided with someone, drawing a startled “Oof” sound from them. Normally when people ran into her they bounced off and she continued on her way unaffected, but this time she was caught off balance and listed to the side, twisting as she fell to avoid landing—again—on her recently dislocated shoulder. The impact still jolted her injuries, though, and she hissed out a blistering curse.</p><p>Geralt lay on her back, looking up at the brilliant azure blue of the sky, dotted with puffy white clouds. Her ears were ringing. The view was interrupted by a face featuring a set of stunning blue eyes that echoed the sky. The warm and comforting rosin-and-honey scent she’d been following wrapped around her and she breathed it in deeply, eyes closing as she parsed the components of its palate.</p><p>“Geralt?!” she heard, the surprise of hearing her name jolting her back to awareness. Golden eyes open once more, albeit narrowed against the bright light of the day, Geralt fought to focus on the face in front of her. Dark hair cut close around the ears and curling over the brow, a straight nose, pink lips slightly parted and framed by laugh lines, a strong, clean-shaven chin. Her brain was still working sluggishly but another lungful of his scent confirmed his identity.</p><p>“You,” she said in a low growl.</p><p>“Me,” replied Jaskier.</p><p>***</p><p>Awareness returned in a rush and Geralt flung herself upright, reaching for her swords as she flared her nostrils and opened her eyes wide to compensate for the dim light of the room. Extending her senses to identify the threat, she looked quickly in all directions. She didn’t recognise her surroundings and none of her weapons were within sight, which meant she had not arrived her of her own accord. She was also, for some reason, wearing a fine linen shirt laced tightly over her chest and straining at the seams around her muscular arms, as well as a pair of men’s breeches that were a good few inches too short in the leg and laced loosely to accommodate her hips and thighs. Her stockings, boots and breast band were gone.</p><p>Who had abducted her? How had they bamboozled her sufficiently to do so? And where was Roach, who would have warned her of the approach of anyone with nefarious purposes?</p><p>A closer look around the room revealed a sumptuous four-poster bed carved from dark wood, chased with detailed frescoes and hung with soft velvet curtains tied back at the corners. A small table next to the bed bore some medical supplies along with a pitcher of water and towels, and Geralt’s saddlebags were tucked tidily in the corner, next to a richly embroidered armchair and ottoman set. She was surrounded by the honeyed scent she’d been following through the streets. The bard, she remembered now. Jaskier. Her forehead creased with confusion.</p><p>The sound of approaching footsteps and a strong, steady heartbeat had Geralt propelling herself across the room to snatch open her saddlebags and extract the sharp dagger stored inside. Positioning herself behind the door, she held her free hand upright, ready to cast Aard if the situation called for it. A quiet knock sounded against the door, followed by the handle turning and a voice she recognised.</p><p>“Geralt, I’m coming in the door, all right? It’s Jaskier.” The bard stepped through the door, letting in enough light to reveal the empty bed. “Geralt?” He turned to his left and startled violently upon seeing the long silver knife mere inches from his nose, “Oh, fuck me! Fucking cock, you scared me!” One hand gripped over his chest over the dove grey doublet spliced with forest green through the sleeves, where his accelerated heart rate evidenced his words. He used the other hand to point in her direction. “Is this the thanks I get for saving you? A bloody great knife in the face? Your manners leave something to be desired, my dear witcher.”</p><p>He walked over to the windows to draw back the curtains and let in the mellow, buttery sunshine of late afternoon. Turning back to face her, Jaskier cocked a hip and propped a hand on it, displaying the dark green breeches that complemented the rest of his outfit. They were somewhat tighter than the travelling outfit he’d been wearing last time they met, after the noonwraith incident, and Geralt’s eyes were drawn unerringly downwards. As soon as she realised where she was staring, she wrenched her gaze back up and glared at Jaskier. His dark eyebrows drew together at Geralt’s expression. “Geralt?” he enquired in a gentler tone, “Are you all right?”</p><p>“How did I come to be here? Where are my swords? And Roach?” The witcher didn’t let the dagger drop an inch, though she did glance around quickly for a better look at the room now that the light revealed it more clearly.</p><p>“Don’t you remember?” Jaskier didn’t wait for a reply before continuing, “You fainted in the street outside my house so I enlisted one of the burlier members of my staff to help me move you inside, and called for a healer to treat your wounds. What did you do to your head, by the way? That was a gory sight, and I’ve had a close-up view of a baby being born—long story; I was travelling to Novigrad for a festival, and came across a woman just lying down on the side of the road, making the most horrendous noises, and as a gentleman I, of course, stopped to offer my assistance, then she flung up her skirts and the baby pretty much landed in my hands…” He rambled on as he flitted about the room, straightening the stack of cloths on a side table and pouring a cup of what Geralt’s nose identified from the near absence of scent as water.</p><p>Geralt tuned him out, stalking across the room and stooping to collect her saddlebags, blinking away the black dots that appeared in her peripheral vision as she did so. While her shoulder appeared somewhat better after a solid few hours of rest—or unconsciousness, according to Jaskier—her head still felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool while also weighing as much as her horse. And where was Roach anyway?</p><p>She walked out the door while Jaskier was still prattling on about afterbirth and how it turns out placentas are nearly the same size as babies, did you know? Turning left, Geralt strode to the staircase and gripped the polished wooden banister tightly as she began to make her way down. A squawk preceded Jaskier’s rushed footsteps as he chased after her, having only just realised she was no longer in the room with him.</p><p>“Wait, Geralt! Your head: you have a serious concussion and a fever, and the healer said you need rest and twice daily fresh dressings on the cuts to keep infection away!” His feet pounded on the steps and he quickly caught up to Geralt, where she stood wavering about a third of the way down, her white-knuckled grip evidence of her precarious balance. Jaskier reached out to grip the witcher’s arm, wrapping one hand as far as he could around her biceps and stretching the other arm across the width of her back to try to steer her back up the stairs.</p><p>“Don’t touch me!” Geralt spat at him, trying to knock his hands off without toppling headfirst down the rest of the stairs. Her vision sparked with bursts of colour to complement the floating black dots and she shook her head, trying to clear her sight.</p><p>“Okay, all right, I’m taking my hands off you now,” Jaskier released her slowly, holding his hands up, palms facing outwards placatingly. “I just don’t want you to undo all the good work the healer has done, and at great cost, I might add. Is everyone so afraid of witchers or was this just an especially opportunistic medical practitioner—Oh! Geralt, I’m going to have to put my hands back on you,” he warned.</p><p>Geralt had turned as white as the fine linens she’d been lying on a few minutes earlier, and started swaying. Jaskier reached out to support her once more, turning them both around on the wide stair and assisting her with walking carefully back up to the bedroom. He slid the saddlebags off her shoulder and deposited them by the door on their way in.</p><p>Once again trying to shake off his grip as she lowered herself onto the mattress, Geralt ended up performing a very ungraceful sprawl that brought Jaskier along with her, leaving his lithely muscled body pinned to the bed beneath her weight, their legs tangled together. The sweet pheromones drifting from Jaskier intensified and Geralt snarled into the doublet that encased the bard’s shoulder, gathering her last reserves of energy so she could roll onto her back and free him.</p><p>As Jaskier sprang from the bed, cheeks flushed and pants distorted by a distinct bulge in the crotch area, Geralt lifted an arm and laid it across her eyes. “Go away,” she growled.</p><p>“Ah, yes, right, sorry about that, ahem.” Jaskier cleared his throat and Geralt heard fabric rustling, no doubt the bard rearranging himself in those damnably tight breeches. “I’ll just close these curtains and leave you to rest. If you need anything, my room is right next door so just sing out and I’ll be right in. I’m afraid my staff are somewhat cowed by your profession, your swords and your general muscular large-ness, so I’m the designated nursemaid. I’ll be back later on to change those bandages, when you’ve had a chance to rest a bit.” He muttered a low-voiced addition under his breath, clearly not realising Geralt could still hear every word, “And once I’ve got my cock under control, the randy beast.”</p><p>Geralt tracked his movements by sound alone, not uncovering her eyes until he’d closed the door behind him. She sighed and rolled to her side, the action releasing another cloud of Jaskier’s scent from the linens. As irritated as she had been at the inopportune timing of his arousal, the smell was still a dichotomous mix of intoxicating and calming, and Geralt breathed in a deep lungful, burying her nose in the bedspread and closing her eyes.</p><p>“Fuck,” she said, succinctly.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter Four</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>“Good. I’ll take what I’m owed.” With that pronouncement, Geralt reached to grip the back of Jaskier’s neck, pulling him in to take his mouth in a hard kiss. </p><p>Flailing his arms out to his sides, Jaskier fell ungracefully forward, trying to avoid landing in a heap on Geralt’s lap.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Tick tock, what’s the time? Oh, is it fuck o’clock, I hear you ask? Why, yes, it is! Huzzah! Rating upped to explicit.</p><p>You have no idea how many times I rewrote this chapter to ensure our witcher and her bard were both in the right headspace to get down and dirty! Then I woke up at 3 am yesterday and realised I FORGOT ABOUT ROACH (terrible horse parent, just terrible), so had to write her into it too. And I also went back and forth so many times on several little details like what colour to make Geralt’s nipples, cos, you know, those are the kind of vital specifics that make or break a story XD. So yay for finally getting there, I guess?</p><p>Shoutout to my girl Ann a.k.a. Liz for the idea of using “chatoyance” in this context. </p><p>One or perhaps two more chapters left to wrap this up, I’m thinking. I hope you enjoy this instalment and, as always, please let me know your thoughts in the comments!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>True to his word, Jaskier had returned as evening deepened, waking Geralt from the uneasy doze she’d fallen into. Grumbling but submitting to his ministrations, Geralt propped herself against the headboard, angled slightly to the side so Jaskier could examine the injuries spanning both sides of her head. The bard’s dextrous fingers, accustomed as they were to plying the strings of his lute, were gentle as he swabbed the cuts with a clean towel dipped in ointment that smelled of chamomile and calendula, then offered her a small mirror so she could inspect the results before he rebandaged the wounds.</p><p>The deep furrows in her scalp were already starting to scab over thanks to her accelerated witcher healing, and she scented no infection setting in. All things considered, she was in much better shape than she had been the previous day, when she’d run into him on the street below.</p><p>Chattering lightly about the weather and the kitchen lad he’d sent out that morning to check on Roach, Jaskier packed up the medical supplies and collected the used bandages and towel coated with ointment, placing them in a basket before washing his hands in a basin of water in the corner of the room. “Right, let’s take a look at your shoulder now.”</p><p>Geralt grunted and leaned forward, loosening the laces of her shirt and sliding the neckline across to reveal the curve of her shoulder. While still not back to its usual pale colour, the angry redness of the previous couple of days had faded and the sharp pain had become more of a dull ache. Jaskier slid his hands around the hardness of her biceps and lifted her arm gently to the side, rotating the limb while watching her face closely for any sign of pain. When she bore the attention stoically, he gently lowered her arm and gave her a squeeze on the uninjured shoulder, palm and fingers warm even through the layer of linen that covered it. “Well, that certainly seems to be on the mend,” he said, looking pleased.</p><p>The casual touches Jaskier doled out had Geralt feeling quite off-balance. People didn’t simply touch witchers. Furthermore, she realised, the acrid scent of fear he’d produced when confronted with her knife that afternoon had been the first time she’d scented the emotion on Jaskier. Did he truly hold no fear of her kind?</p><p>As Geralt reclined against the headboard once more, the unlaced neckline of her shirt slid further down, exposing the upper curve of her breast and catching on a bronze nipple. Each slow breath she took shifted the material up and down. She didn’t notice, as absorbed as she was in her thoughts.</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier felt he’d been doing a decent job of tamping down his attraction to Geralt, concentrating on the medicinal role he’d assumed by keeping his gaze on her wounds and her face. And what a glorious face! Sculpted to perfection with a strong jawline, straight nose, slight cleft in her chin. The fullness of her lips seemed the only point of softness. White eyebrows curved above those hunter’s eyes, which, he was relieved to see, were no longer clouded by fever.</p><p>The quick wank Jaskier had taken the time for earlier had helped keep him focused. But now all he could think about was peeling her shirt further down and fully revealing the luscious curve of her breast. Although Geralt’s general demeanour was forbidding, he’d noticed how she softened into his hand on her shoulder. And the massage she’d given to remedy the cramp in his thigh when they first met indicated she wasn’t completely averse to touch.</p><p>His tenure as a bard playing for crowds large and small had given Jaskier a solid sense of when his presence was completely unwelcome, giving him time to make a hasty escape when necessary. That was not the vibe he was getting from Geralt. But was it ethical to make an advance while she was still reliant on his medical care and shelter, or should he wait and risk her disappearing without a goodbye when she’d recovered?</p><p>***</p><p>Another flare of lust—did the bard exist in a perpetual state of horniness?—had Geralt tracking Jaskier’s gaze to her half-revealed nipple. Though generally ambivalent towards her own looks and primarily viewing her body as a functional tool that helped her do her work, Geralt was aware of the effect her appearance had on others. Many people were intimidated by her, whether owing to her profession and consequent collection of scars, her size or the general fuck-off demeanour she wore as a default. And, of course, there were always some who wanted to dominate her and say they’d mastered a witcher. Them, she usually laid low with a quick punch to the gut, or somewhere more delicate, before taking her leave.</p><p>Her sex drive might be dormant while she was on the job but she enjoyed a good fuck as much as the next person during her downtime. The challenge was finding the right partner. Whores were all well and good, and served their purpose, but it was hard to find one who didn’t stink of fear. She’d found that women were generally game for a decent romp between the sheets as long as she showed them the colour of her silver beforehand, but men never seemed to know whether they should be taking charge. It was distracting to have to coach someone she was paying for a service.</p><p>So on the rare occasions that she scented a true sexual draw aimed her way, Geralt was not opposed to taking a bed partner. She drew in a deeper breath, parsing the scent. Jaskier’s attraction to her seemed genuine, given he’d displayed the same indicators on several occasions. “Hmmm,” Geralt mused, drawing the man’s attention back to her face. His cheeks pinked as he realised she’d caught him staring at her chest. She decided to ascertain his intentions. “Do you wish to fuck me?”</p><p>***</p><p>“Oh! Yes! I, uh, I mean…” Jaskier dropped his gaze briefly, then, chagrined, looked back up to meet her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Geralt, I know I’ve put you in a terrible position here, while you’re relying on me to tend your wounds. I’d be mortified if you thought I was taking advantage…” He trailed off.</p><p>“But…” Geralt coaxed.</p><p>“But…” Jaskier took up her prompt, then let out a sigh. “Dear Melitele, you can clearly smell how attracted I am to you!” The witcher’s nostrils were still flared, drawing in deep breaths of his scent, and her head was tilted towards him. “Aside from your gorgeous muscles and luminous skin, that growl in your voice just does things to me.” He shivered expressively and cast a rueful glance at his lap, where his semi-hard cock was clearly outlined. “I suspect I’d have to be approaching death to not find you desirable.”</p><p>The impassive look Geralt directed at Jaskier didn’t give him any indication of her feelings on the matter. “Hmmm. Do you view this as a debt to be paid for the healing?”</p><p>Jaskier was horrified at the implication. “No! Of course not! And you saved me first, from that horrid wraith! If anything, I owe you.” He knew his display of interest in her had been less than subtle but surely she didn’t think he’d actually try to extort sex?</p><p>“Good. I’ll take what I’m owed.” With that pronouncement, Geralt reached to grip the back of Jaskier’s neck, twisting her fingers into the dark hair and pulling him in to take his mouth in a hard kiss.</p><p>Flailing his arms out to his sides, Jaskier fell ungracefully forward into the kiss, trying to avoid landing in a heap on Geralt’s lap. At the last moment he managed to brace himself by gripping one of Geralt’s shoulders—fortunately, the uninjured one—with one hand and propping the other against the headboard behind her. The topic of conversation had cooled his arousal but at the taste of her mouth it came roaring back in full force.</p><p>***</p><p>Geralt kissed like she was going to battle, immediately fighting for dominance, until she realised Jaskier’s mouth had softened under hers and he was taking her attentions without trying to assert his own control. In response, she licked her tongue into the crease of his lips and traced his straight, white teeth, encouraging them open. Their tongues pressed closely, beginning the age-old thrust-and-retreat mimicry of intercourse.</p><p>Jaskier’s eyes had slid shut but Geralt kept hers open, the better to observe his reactions. Her core became slick as her own interest spiked at Jaskier’s taste. The honeyed scent of his arousal permeated the air, twining with her own more earthy odour to form a cloud of fragrance that went straight to her head and caused a clench below her belly button. Moving to unlace Jaskier’s doublet and shirt, Geralt pulled away long enough to whip the garments over his head and flung her own shirt after them before she reclaimed his mouth.</p><p>Jaskier brought up one hand to cup the warm weight of her breast and roll her nipple gently between two fingers. Breaking the kiss, he gasped out, “Tell me if I do something you don’t like. Or something you do like. Or if there’s something you want me to do. Or that you want to do to me. Or I might have a few suggestions, if you’re open to that?” As Jaskier spoke, he ran his gaze down her body, focusing on the nipple he was toying with, which had darkened with the flush of blood rushing to it.</p><p>“Hmmm,” Geralt hummed her agreement. While she wasn’t a fan of having to direct her bed partners in minute detail, there was nothing wrong with giving general guidance to maximise their mutual pleasure. “I want to take you apart the first time. You can take the lead next time.”</p><p>Jaskier gulped, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he absorbed her intentions. Geralt watched his expression and drew in another lungful of his scent, using all her senses to absorb his approval of her proposal even as he began nodding in evident agreement. “Yes. Fuck, Geralt.” He leaned back in for another quick kiss before lying back on the rumpled sheets, loosening the ties on his breeches so he could slide them off. “Do with me what you will.”</p><p>Pondering her options, Geralt stood and peeled off the overly tight men’s breeches she’d been dressed in—by Jaskier, she now realised. Had he stared at her body, her scars while she’d been unconscious? If so, it obviously hadn’t put him off, judging by the erection that stood high and firm, extending from a nest of crinkly dark curls that spread barely more sparsely down his legs and up over his belly and chest as well.</p><p>Bypassing the cock that called out for attention, Geralt ran her palm along the pelt of hair, beginning just above his knee and moving up towards his chest. His body hair was a little coarse and scraped pleasantly against her, releasing another wave of his scent. She huffed in another deep breath, enjoying the feel of his firm skin.</p><p>Following the path of her hand, she moved up Jaskier’s side, leaning down to take one of his flat, pink nipples into her mouth and sucking lightly, before testing his reaction to a slight compression of her teeth. His thick erection jumped a little, skin tightening as a pearly drop of white precome beaded from the slit at the top. “Hmmm,” she hummed again, the sound approving. </p><p>Using one finger to trace the droplet and smear it around the darkly flushed head, Geralt made a decision. Swinging a leg around, she positioned herself over Jaskier’s face, with a knee on either side of his head and her core spread open above him. “Long, slow licks,” she instructed. “Not too fast.” The startled sound he’d made at her swift change of position turned into a laugh of delight as he comprehended her directions. </p><p>Jaskier’s tongue, smooth and warm, pressed against her folds, lapping at the moisture that had gathered. As he began a slow rhythm of gliding along her slit, culminating in a flick against her clitoris at the top, one hand wrapped around her thigh, kneading the muscle where it was braced next to his head, and the other rode atop her generously proportioned backside, pressing her down closer to increase his reach.</p><p>Geralt’s back muscles rippled with an involuntary shiver. Not letting herself get too distracted, Geralt formed a loop with her fingers, surrounding the base of Jaskier’s cock as she took the head into her mouth, tongue wrapping over her sharp incisors as she worked him up and down. Sliding a finger into her mouth alongside the hard flesh until it was spit-slick, she moved it down to tap against the tightly furled hole tucked behind his heavy ballocks.</p><p>“Hngh!” Jaskier’s wordless expression and the sudden spike in the scent of honey clued her into his interest. He was lapping at her quickly now and she pinched his thigh, though not too roughly, to remind him of her instructions.</p><p>“Slow.” She released her hold on Jaskier’ cock long enough to growl out the word, then sucked him in again, setting up a paced movement to demonstrate to the bard what she wanted. He followed suit, slowing to his former speed, releasing small moans of pleasure in between licks.</p><p>Pleased, Geralt resumed her actions. Bobbing up and down the length of Jaskier’s erection, she traced her finger in a small circle against his entrance, dipping just the tip inside the tight heat. His fingers clenched tightly on her thigh in response and his hips jerked up almost involuntarily. But he maintained his steady licks against her core. After giving him a minute to get back on track, Geralt pressed further inside, crooking her finger to rub against the ball of nerves positioned towards the front of his body.</p><p>“Ahhh! Dear, sweet, Melitele! Fuck! Geralt! Fuck! I’m going to come. Fuck!” Jaskier babbled, cock jerking and body rolling in an attempt to curl up and increase the pressure against his prostate. Holding back a smile—the expression incompatible with how her mouth was presently occupied—but feeling it internally, Geralt rotated her finger and simultaneously dropped further down onto his erection, taking the head to the back of her throat. His ballocks drew up tight against his body.</p><p>“Fuuuuuuuuu-UUUUUCK!” Jaskier roared out his pleasure, voice breaking in the middle of the curse. A veritable fountain of come poured down Geralt’s throat, Jaskier’s hips jerking and muscles in his legs twitching in time with the rub of the pad of her finger inside him. She swallowed his release, the taste bitter yet undoubtedly much more palatable than a mouthful of selkiemore guts, easing off the pressure and withdrawing her finger only when the bard started moving to try to escape her hold, apparently approaching overstimulation.</p><p>Dismounting from Jaskier’s head, Geralt half-reclined on the bed at his side, giving the bard a moment to recover himself. As she waited, she stroked a finger down his face, tracing a trickle of her own juices that had spread across the stubbled surface to trail down the side of his neck.</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier collapsed back on the bed, breath sawing in and out of his lungs and eyes blown wide as he absorbed what had just happened. That had been the best orgasm of his life. Was it a witcher ability, to unerringly find his prostate on the first try? Sweet Melitele, he never thought he’d feel grateful to a fucking noonwraith, but without that beastie he’d likely never had crossed paths with Geralt.</p><p>Recovering himself after a few deep lungfuls of air, Jaskier rolled onto his side, facing Geralt. “My dear witcher, your hands were clearly sent by the gods and if you’ll allow me to worship you in return, I promise to endeavour to give you equal pleasure!” His eyes traced over her. One thick thigh was propped up, giving free access to the pale, scarred finger that slowly circled her centre, slick warmth easing the way. He licked his lips in anticipation.</p><p>Granting him a half-smile, Geralt laid herself on her back and brought her hands up to tuck underneath her head. Taut muscles and strong curves displayed to great advantage, she waited to see what Jaskier would do.</p><p>He began simply, with a press of his lips against her own. Geralt hummed her enjoyment and opened up to welcome the bard’s tongue, the kiss flavoured with the earthy musk of her slickness and his spend. Taking care to avoid the bruxa claw marks that marred the soft expanse of thick, white hair, Jaskier tilted her head to get a better angle.</p><p>The leisurely exploration continued for several minutes before Geralt gripped the back of his neck and directed his head further down her body. Jaskier took up the cue, pressing kisses down her chest. Her dark nipples were draw tight and stood out in stark contrast to the pale flesh surrounding them. Jaskier paused to suck each pointed tip in turn into his mouth, rolling them gently against his teeth as he cupped and shaped her breasts with his hands.</p><p>Releasing the supple flesh, Jaskier ran dextrous fingers down the hard ridges of Geralt’s abdomen, following with his tongue as he traced across the thatch of pale hair that covered her groin. Spreading her folds open a little, he admired the chatoyance glistening from between her thighs. Lining one finger up against the side of the exquisitely sensitive nub of flesh at the top, he rubbed in a gentle circle, then leaned down to lap at the resulting rush of slick arousal her body produced.</p><p>Jaskier inhaled in deeply. “Sweeter than the finest Toussaint red,” he uttered, looking up to meet her golden gaze. “I could feast on you for a thousand nights and never have enough.”</p><p>“Hmmm.” Geralt rolled her eyes at his exaggeration. “Less talk, more action, bard.”</p><p>Jaskier tipped an imaginary hat to the witcher and repositioned himself between her thighs. He began with a flat, soft tongue, spreading it wide to cover the maximum area. The langorously slow licks he lavished upon her drew a twitch from her thigh muscles each time he flicked over her clitoris. But soon this was not enough and Geralt began lifting her hips, wordlessly demanding a faster pace.</p><p>The bard obliged, increasing his tempo and stiffening the spread of his tongue to give Geralt a firmer surface to push against. The witcher rolled her pelvis in a smooth cadence, letting out an occasional low moan when Jaskier hit just the right spot. </p><p>As Jaskier sucked her clitoris inside his mouth, lashing it with his stiff tongue and humming against her, the vibrations spread and Geralt tensed against him. Lifting her thighs until they trapped his head in place, she dug powerful fingers into the sheets and tossed her head back, releasing a noise louder than any other Jaskier had heard from her to date. “Ahhhhhh, yes!”</p><p>Jaskier kept up the movement until the witcher used her grip on his head to roll them both to the side. He settled on his back, one knee cocked out to the side to keep contact with the witcher’s firmly muscled leg as Geralt flung an arm across her eyes, panting.</p><p>“Well, my dear witcher, I think it’s safe to say we’re compatible between the bed sheets.” Jaskier smiled cheekily, face glistening with the evidence of her orgasm. “Just think what my staff will be whispering to themselves.”</p><p>“Fuck off, bard,” Geralt grunted. “Are you trying to ruin the mood?”</p><p>Jaskier let out a hearty laugh, slapping his chest and kicking his feet into the air for good measure. Melitele, he felt energised by their sex! But, looking over at Geralt, he saw her eyes were half-shuttered, and a yawn stretched her jaw wide, revealing sharp incisors. Immediately, he felt ashamed. Here he was, pondering the likelihood of round two being imminent, while Geralt was still recovering from her injuries and clearly needed rest.</p><p>He stood, stretching, and spread the sheet up to cover the witcher. Gathering his clothes, Jaskier put on his breeches and rolled his shirt and doublet up into a bundle to take with him. “That was truly wonderous. Get some rest, Geralt, and build up your energy. I believe you promised me a second round with me in charge, and I intend to take you up on that later!”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Geralt replied sleepily, turning onto her side and curling up around in a pillow in a frankly adorable pose that caused Jaskier to stifle a sigh. It was so incongruous against her strong, heavily muscled frame and usually scowling expression. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against her forehead, then exited the room, drawing the door closed behind him.</p><p>As he made his way to his room next door to wash up, Jaskier couldn’t hold back the broad grin that split his face.</p>
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<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter Five</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier draped himself over her back and rolled his lower body, simultaneously scattering kisses across her shoulder blades and along her neck where the tumble of white hair had slid to the side. “Ohhhh yes, this arse of yours, Geralt, it was surely crafted by the hands of the gods. Fear not, though, I will worship it with all due respect.”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Oh hey, so remember how at the start of the last chapter I said I’d rewritten it several times to get our lovely pair in the right mental state for sexy times? So it turns out that kind of strong-arming kinda killed the trajectory of the story that had been in progress and it took me a looooong time to want to come back and finish this. Lesson learned, I guess! Anyway, here’s the next part at last! Further horniness and The Amazing Devil lyrics ahead. The next chapter will be an epilogue to wrap things up, and then we’re done, folks!</p><p>This chapter brought to you by the motivation that’s consistently instilled in me by lovely people sending me encouraging words in the comments section and by the Silbermond album ‘Verschwende Deine Zeit’. I smashed out 2k words in an hour last weekend thanks to that list of bangers &lt;3. And their other album Nichts Passiert has also been perfect for writing the Good Soft ™. </p><p>As always, I love receiving your comments! They fuel the fire of my motivation to keep polishing and publishing my fics (cos only my Dropbox knows how many I’ve written but not [yet] shared ahahahah).</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Geralt woke abruptly, as always, senses extending to help her ascertain her location. The soft sheets and pillow under her and the faded scent of both her own arousal and Jaskier’s immediately provided reassurance as to the safety of her surroundings. Yawning widely, she turned onto her back and indulged in a full-body stretch. Rotating her previously dislocated shoulder, Geralt was pleased to see that the skin was pale once more and held only a little residual soreness. </p><p>Rolling out of bed in one smooth move, the witcher walked over to fling the curtains aside, then peered into the small mirror Jaskier had left at her bedside the previous evening. The bruxa’s scratches were also well on their way to healing over, although the rents of missing hair left her with a slightly lopsided look. The hours of rest she’d had were clearly doing their work to accelerate her recovery speed to the usual witcher standards.</p><p>Geralt took care of the urgent press of her bladder, washed her hands in the basin of water nearby, then redressed in the clothes she’d tossed aside the previous day. They were wrinkled and smelled a little stale but they’d do. She’d worn far worse for far longer, after all.</p><p>Striding towards the door, Geralt collected her saddlebags and slung them over her left shoulder. Reaching for the handle, she opened it and immediately fell back into a fighting stance as the person framed in the door, right fist hanging in the air, yelled out, “Melitele’s tits!” Recognising Jaskier’s voice, Geralt relaxed her pose.</p><p>Jaskier retrieved the hand he’d had raised to knock on the door, and pressed it against his chest, where his rabbiting heart rate displayed his shock at her sudden appearance on the other side of the door frame. “Fuck, Geralt, we’ve got to stop meeting like this. My poor heart can’t take it.”</p><p>Amused by the bard’s antics, Geralt huffed out a laugh as she skirted around Jaskier and made for the staircase. “I need to check on Roach,” she said.</p><p>“Oh, yes, of course,” replied Jaskier, scrambling to keep up as they descended, boots making little sound on the plush runner that spread the length of the stairs. “I was coming to see if you’d like to break your fast with me, but I suppose we can take the food to go. Ah, Alida, good morning!” he exclaimed as they came upon a slight, dark-haired woman exiting one of the doors that led off the main hallway. </p><p>“Master Julian, how are you this morn…” Voice cutting off and smile dying on her lips as she saw Geralt, Alida backed up against the door she’d just exited. “Oh! I thought Engol was jesting when he said he’d helped you carry a half-dead witcher into the house.” The sour scent of fear emanating from the woman lay heavy in Geralt’s nose as she breathed in.</p><p>“Yes indeed, this is Geralt of Rivia, the courageous witcher who saved me from that ghastly wraith that bespelled me a few weeks ago. I owe her my life,” Jaskier pressed a hand dramatically against his chest as he spoke, reaching out with the other to cover Geralt’s bicep in a familiar grip.</p><p>Shrugging off his hand, Geralt opted not to take part in the conversation, instead inclining her head to Alida as she made her way to the front door, taking long strides to escape the fear stink. Jaskier trailed behind, the stir of air accompanied by his much more palatable scent soothing the olfactory burn as he waved his arms about in accompaniment with his speech, “Geralt, wait for me! I need to divert into the kitchen to collect a basket from Cook, then I can accompany you. I’ll be just a moment, and I’m sure Roach will be even happier to see you if you come bearing the gift of an apple or twoooo…and you’re gone.” Jaskier sighed as the door closed behind Geralt, cutting off his view of her round, leather-clad arse. “Bollocks.”</p><p>***</p><p>Outside, Geralt paused a moment to orient herself then set out for the inn where Roach was stabled. The streets she strode along were unfamiliar and she wondered in how much of a daze the fever had left her. That she’d been able to track Jaskier’s scent for such a distance without succumbing was a testament to her enhanced constitution—and probably a coincidence of fate with regard to the direction of the wind.</p><p>Finally reaching the inn, Geralt entered the stables first to check on her mare. Roach was happily munching on a mouthful of hay but paused long enough to bump her nose against Geralt’s shoulder and snort in welcome. “How are you, my little fish?” Geralt asked, rubbing her hand along the side of Roach’s face and scratching the horse’s favourite spot behind her ear.</p><p>Roach snorted and returned to her hay. Given her own injuries, Geralt hadn’t been in any condition to properly check Roach before stabling her, so she now took her time running her hand down each of the mare’s legs and picking up her feet to check for any swelling or soreness picked up during their journey to Oxenfurt. Finding no adverse signs, Geralt gave Roach a pat. “I’ll be back tomorrow, girl.” Leaving the horse to her food, she went to seek out the innkeeper.</p><p>***</p><p>Having settled her debt with the innkeeper for Roach’s care and paid for a further night of stabling the horse, Geralt made her way towards the town square, aiming for the herbalist shop she’d passed on her way over.</p><p>A small bell rang a merry tune as Geralt opened the door, and the stocky auburn-haired woman behind the counter turned to see who had entered her shop. Taking in Geralt’s appearance with equanimity and a pleasant absence of fear, the herbalist asked, “Greetings. How can I help you today?” Her forearms, revealed by the rolled-up sleeves pinned above her elbows, flexed as she diced ingredients on a chopping board. </p><p>Geralt caught the sharp scent of absenta and the spicy fragrance of damiana as she approached the counter. Hmm. It seemed the herbalist was making aphrodisiacs. Thoughts of her liaison with Jaskier the previous evening tickled her mind as she said, “I need mandrake. Do you have any?” </p><p>“I do. Let me finish up here and I’ll fetch it for you.” The herbalist’s knife skated across the board, scooping the ingredients into a heap in one corner. She dusted off her hands on a stained apron wrapped under her generous bust and moved out from behind the counter. Walking over to a wall of shelves stocked with baskets and jars of varying sizes, she pulled down a container of dried mandrake roots. “None fresh, I’m afraid, given the toxicity.”</p><p>Geralt inclined her head in acknowledgement and mentally tallied her coin. The innkeeper hadn’t quibbled over the money Geralt offered for stabling Roach, seeming relieved that the witcher wouldn’t be in residence at the inn itself, so she could afford several of the dried roots. The herbalist wrapped them in a square of paper secured with twine and took the silver coins Geralt handed over. </p><p>Nodding her farewell, Geralt exited the shop and turned right to proceed towards Jaskier’s house. The aphrodisiacs had reminded her of the promise made regarding a second round of bed play.</p><p>***</p><p>The morning had decidedly not been progressing as Jaskier had hoped. Still, there was the rest of the day to turn things around. He considered his options. Geralt had left without so much as a farewell, saddlebags in tow. Did that indicate she would be coming back later? Or was she cutting ties now? He decided to be optimistic and turned to the kitchen to ask Cook to prepare a little picnic for two. When Geralt returned, he would be ready.</p><p>While he waited, Jaskier went to his room to collect his lute and continue fine-tuning the song he’d been working on for the last few weeks. “I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting. If this is the path I must trudge, I welcome my sentence.” His fingers caressed the strings, coaxing forth different note combinations to pair with the lyrics. </p><p>As the habitual movements of playing the lute settled his mind, Jaskier found his thoughts wandering. The song morphed, changing from the in-progress composition to an older tune he’d written back in his university days. “Now the wind is so warm on the back of my neck. As I walk with the sun hand in hand from the wreck.” The lyrics stirred up a reminder that he’d been in Oxenfurt for several weeks now. The familiar itch under his skin started up. It was time to get on the road once more. Maybe he would strike out with Geralt, if she was amenable, he mused to himself.</p><p>Returning his lute to its case, Jaskier pulled out his travel satchel and started going through the contents. As he began to sort things into stacks for packing, Geralt entered the room, closing the door behind her.</p><p>***</p><p>Following her nose, Geralt tracked Jaskier to what appeared to be his bedroom, across the hall and three doors further down from the one she’d slept in for the last couple of nights. The room was redolent with his scent and various items were scattered around, including a lute case open against the pillow. The man himself sat in the middle of the luxuriously tall bed, doublet discarded and shirt loosely laced. The spread of dark curls revealed by the neckline caught her eye. </p><p>Geralt closed the door behind her. As she approached the bed, Jaskier leaned up on his knees to move closer, positively beaming at her. “Geralt! I had myself half convinced I’d never see you again!”</p><p>“I keep my promises where I can, Jaskier,” Geralt replied. She shook her hair free of the leather tie that held it half up behind her head, then began unbuckling her armour. “I believe it’s your turn to take the lead?” </p><p>Jaskier’s blue eyes widened in surprise as he took in her actions, but he was quick to rally, whipping his shirt free of the waistband of his pants and practically flinging it over his head in his haste to undress. As the last of Geralt’s armour hit the floor and she moved on to unlacing her shirt and pants, Jaskier flopped about on his back on the bed, cursing up a storm.</p><p>“Fucking…laces…knew I shouldn’t have had them tailored so close-fitting. Oh, cock! Maybe if I…” He was interrupted as Geralt reached across the mattress to yank the stubborn material down his legs. A seam may have ripped in the process but Jaskier was too busy enjoying his freedom from the confinement to care. “Thanks.” He looked up at her gratefully, then his gaze immediately dipped down to the sway of her breasts above him, catching on the tightly furled nipples. “Oh, Geralt! Would you look at those sweet berries begging for my mouth on them. Come closer.”</p><p>Geralt climbed onto the bed at Jaskier’s side and leaned over him, her breasts swaying above his head, then dipping down so he could draw each one into his mouth in turn. As Jaskier lavished attention on her nipples, Geralt gripped the top of his smallclothes. He helpfully lifted his hips as she drew them down, revealing his cock, already thickening up under her golden-eyed regard.</p><p>Discarding the underclothes on the floor, Geralt stretched out at Jaskier’s side. His eyes skated across her form, drinking in the long lines of muscle and curves overlaid by scarred but still soft skin. After a few moments of silent regard, Geralt prompted him, “Well, what do you have in mind?”</p><p>***</p><p>Jaskier’s brain froze for a moment, so many possibilities bombarding him that he couldn’t decide on a single course of action. So he opted to follow his instincts and began simply, propping himself up on an elbow and reaching out a broad, callused hand to tuck a lock of hair behind Geralt’s ear. He carefully avoided the claw marks that wrapped around her scalp as he cradled her head and leaned in for a kiss.</p><p>As their lips pressed together, Geralt’s eyes slid closed and Jaskier’s fingers gently massaged the back of her head as he tilted it to get a better angle. The slick slide of her tongue against his was a sweet stir, and Jaskier let out a quiet sigh of happiness. </p><p>Geralt opened her eyes once more at the sound and swept a hand up his side, tracing the soft skin layered over by crinkly dark hair, coming to rest against his upper back. Jaskier shivered at her touch and hummed his approval.</p><p>Minutes passed as they explored the texture and taste of each other, until Geralt rolled towards Jaskier and wrapped one powerful thigh around his hip, using the grip to bring him over to lie on top of her. The new position left her hot core pressed against his hipbone and his cock, the head moistened with precome, sliding across the defined muscles of her abdomen.</p><p>“Oh ho, getting impatient then, are we?” Jaskier crowed, winking down at her.</p><p>“Get on with it, bard,” Geralt growled.</p><p>“This is strongly reminiscent of our previous tryst,” Jaskier mused, “Only this time, it’s my turn to choose the pace.” His grin turned positively evil at the long-suffering groan Geralt released. “Oh, don’t worry, my dear, I’ll take care of you.”</p><p>That said, Jaskier leaned down again, nibbling a line of kisses down Geralt’s neck and across the span of her chest until he could feast on her darkly bronzed nipples. She thrust upwards as he laved his tongue across the left one, then moved over to the right side, teasing a finger against the tip of the abandoned nipple as he went.</p><p>Jaskier’s other hand was lined up at Geralt’s side, propping him up so he could admire the view. He enjoyed the contrast between the soft weight of her breasts and the cords of muscle wrapped around the rest of her. In this new position, he could feel the slick heat of her arousal pressed against his lower abdomen, wetting the spread of hair that arrowed more narrowly below his belly button. Her hips rocked against him, seeking friction that was denied as he raised up on his knees.</p><p>“More,” demanded Geralt, and Jaskier released her nipple with one last twirl around the tip, grinning up at her in between pressing slow kisses against her torso. She rolled her eyes at his cheeky expression and then smiled wickedly herself, bringing a hand down to slide between them and align against her clit. “Ahhh, yes,” she moaned, circling two fingers lightly.</p><p>“Oh, Geralt, you cruel beast, you’re depriving me of the pleasure of discovering your body at my own pace!” Jaskier protested. </p><p>“Not fast enough,” retorted Geralt, but she acquiesced as he displaced her hand, moving it to the side to give him space. Jaskier leaned down and licked a quick, flickering pattern above the thatch of white curls. The sensation drew forth a pleased noise, followed by a deeper, less controlled moan that echoed in her chest as Jaskier’s clever tongue dove down to slide through her folds.</p><p>Settling into a steady rhythm with the flat of his tongue covering Geralt’s clit, Jaskier slid a finger against the slickness that spilled from her and pressed inside, enjoying the clench of muscles. Sliding a second digit in alongside the first, he twisted his fingers, shifting to find the best combination of internal and external stimulation. Caught up in his experimentation, the tense of muscles and rush of heat that spilled against him after a bare few minutes came as a surprise. He hadn’t realised she was so close. </p><p>“Yes, fuck, yes,” Geralt choked out, the orgasm washing over her. </p><p>“Fuck, you look so gorgeous when you come on my tongue, Geralt.” Jaskier pressed his cock against the soft sheets, rutting once, then twice, before he stilled his hips by force of will. “I want to feel you around me the next time.”</p><p>“Yes, fuck, Jaskier, get inside me already.” Geralt reached down to grip him under the arms and yank him up against her.</p><p>The initial brush of contact his cock against Geralt, flushed and panting a little, still fresh from orgasm, had Jaskier shuddering with arousal. He switched to a kneeling position, one hand propped next to her hip and the other gripping his leaking erection, rubbing it lightly against her folds. When Geralt arched upwards to increase the contact, Jaskier used the momentum to tuck a knee under her bent legs and roll her over on to her stomach.</p><p>Geralt looked back at him, gaze enquiring, so Jaskier clarified, “I couldn’t take my eyes off your gorgeous arse when I first met you. Now I have the chance to hold it in my hands while I fuck you, and don’t intend to miss a second of the experience.” Ignoring Geralt’s snort of laughter at his dramatics, Jaskier draped himself over her back and rolled his lower body, simultaneously scattering kisses across her shoulder blades and along her neck where the tumble of white hair had slid to the side. “Ohhhh yes, this arse of yours, Geralt, it was surely crafted by the hands of the gods. Fear not, though, I will worship it with all due respect.”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Geralt clearly didn’t have much to say on the matter, instead letting her movements speak for her. Lifting Jaskier’s weight where he lay over her, she shifted to kneel on the rumpled sheets, and tilted her hips back, trying to capture the hard press of his erection.</p><p>Jaskier let out an amused huff at her continued impatience but took the hint and picked himself up off her back. “All right, foreplay complete, I get it.” He pressed the pad of a finger against the glistening warmth spilling from her as he gripped a handful of her backside with the other hand. Squeezing to test the give of muscle overlaid by soft skin, Jaskier let out a moan, “Fuck, it’s even better than I’d imagined. I can’t wait to feel it bounce against me.”</p><p>Geralt let out a moan as Jaskier reached around her side and rubbed against the top of her clit with the finger he’d bathed in the spill of slickness. The buck of her hips welcomed Jaskier’s cock as he pressed inside in one smooth slide, then paused as he processed all of the sensations bombarding him. The warm grip around his erection, walls rippling against him from root to tip. The sweet spill of wet arousal against his finger. The scarred yet still soft skin laid out before him, displaying the defined musculature of her frame. And above all, the beautifully rounded arse that he wanted to simultaneously bite, lick, hold, stroke and fuck into. </p><p>The harsh sound of Geralt cursing and her insistent squeeze around him jolted Jaskier out of his contemplation. He drew his hips back a little, watching as his glistening cock emerged into the light, before thrusting back inside. Twin moans wound around each other, issuing into the air with the slap of skin against skin as a counterpoint. </p><p>Jaskier’s eyes were wide open, not daring to blink for fear of missing a moment of the sight of Geralt’s magnificent body enveloping him. Her arse jiggled and bounced with each thrust, the dichotomous softness against the hard muscle of the rest of her body cradling him and driving him utterly crazy. “Geralt…you’re so fucking gorgeous…feel so good…I can’t…hngh,” he panted out, lacking the oxygen and brain power to form a full sentence. </p><p>For her part, Geralt had settled into a mostly consistent pattern of rolling back into the thrust of his cock, then forward to press against the skilled finger that twirled across her clit with each approach. Sparks of heat flickered through her and she let out a string of encouraging noises as Jaskier adjusted his angle to get ever-so-slightly deeper, trapping her clit between two fingers to increase the stimulation.</p><p>The incoherent sounds Jaskier was producing turned into a long groan, sliding through several octaves in a musical crescendo paired with several sharp thrusts that culminated in wet heat pouring into Geralt. The rhythm of his hips faltered but it took a mere few further seconds of pressing against his talented fingers for Geralt to fall over the edge too. As she clenched around the sensitive head of his cock, Jaskier hissed out a breath but didn’t still his fingers until her own movements slowed as her orgasm ebbed. </p><p>A slick rush of thick, white come followed his softened length as he pulled back out of Geralt. She stretched her legs out to lie flat against the bed, letting out a quiet groan at the release of tense muscle that had been held in position for the duration. </p><p>Jaskier laid at her side, half draped over Geralt so he could stroke over her arse admiringly. “Geralt, I do believe I’ve had my first religious experience, thanks to this work of art.” He squeezed gently, watching the skin give under his fingers then bounce a little as he released his grip. </p><p>“I’m so pleased my backside lived up to expectations,” Geralt replied drolly.</p><p>Her head was resting on her folded hands, turned towards him, so Jaskier could see the spark of humour in her eyes despite the deadpan expression she wore. He couldn’t resist leaning in to press a kiss against her mouth before settling down against her side once more. The residual come on his body was starting to feel rather sticky and would no doubt glue them together but he wasn’t about to let that interrupt the afterglow. </p><p>Looking across the rumpled sheets at the mess of Jaskier’s clothes and personal effects spread around them, Geralt’s eye caught on something that made her lift up, ignoring the grumbles of protest as the movement displaced Jaskier and caused him to roll on to his back. She reached out and pulled on a strip of leather, sliding the item across the sheets to get a better look. “Is this a cock, Jaskier?”</p><p>“It is!” he replied, without an ounce of shame. “Took a good deal of searching to find a craftsman who would make it to my specifications, but it turned out rather well, I think.” The long wooden cock at the centre curved up a little and was held in place by criss-crossing leather straps. The longer straps at the side were fastened with buckles and it was clear they were intended to wrap around the wearer’s thighs.</p><p>“Hmmm.” Geralt was pondering the possibilities. </p><p>“Have you not come across a strap-on cock before, Geralt? I think you’d be utterly magnificent wielding it.” Jaskier let out a rapturous sigh. “There’s a great deal to be said for occasionally surrendering control and being thoroughly fucked.”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Geralt said again, this time with a tone that had Jaskier looking up to see the emotions passing across her face in quick succession, intense ultimately winning out as she clearly pictured the scenario Jaskier was describing.</p><p>“But sadly, I’ll need a recovery period before we test it out,” Jaskier said, truly regretting the delay.</p><p>Geralt looked up to meet his eyes. “I paid for Roach to be stabled for another night. I don’t have to return for her until tomorrow.” The mischievous grin she received from Jaskier let her know he was on board with her unspoken suggestion. </p>
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<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter Six</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Jaskier tightened his grip on Geralt’s hand briefly, then released it and turned over onto his back so they could face each other. Geralt lifted her weight to allow him to rearrange their positions, rolling onto her own back to lie at his side. “Geralt? What’s next for you?”</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful person who commented on the first chapter of this fic that it had “peg all men 2020 energy”. Thanks for the inspiration! (I don’t know how to tag people on this platform, I’m so sorry; I hope you see this anyway!) The filth fairies truly came through with the inspiration while this chapter was in progress: I cranked out 80% of this in just over an hour. Hoo boy! </p><p>As always, comments are love &lt;3. Let me know your thoughts now that this fic is wrapped up! And thanks for sticking with it despite the unexpectedly prolonged delay in the middle. </p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jaskier woke to the delicious feeling of a warm tongue sliding across his lower abdomen. Geralt traced the lines of lightly defined muscle that wrapped around his midsection, making her way gradually lower. He let out a blissful sigh, enjoying the sensation for a few more moments before opening his eyes, the sweep of dark brown lashes fluttering as his vision adjusted to the light coming through the windows. A light rain was falling outside, pale grey clouds interspersed with patches of blue sky.</p><p>Looking down his body to where Geralt was now teasing the tip of the wooden cock in its harness along the spread of dark hair surrounding his groin, Jaskier grinned. “What a delightful way to awaken.” His breath hitched as Geralt rolled the fine-grained wood along the length of his erection, then pressed it ever-so-lightly behind his bollocks. “I’ll need a little more preparation, my dear. It’s been a while since I took anything larger than a single digit.”</p><p>Geralt smirked at him, clearly recalling the events of the previous evening that involved said digit. She reached across the mattress to retrieve a small vial of oil, using the stoppered end to point at Jaskier. “Let me?”</p><p>More than willing to lie back and enjoy her competent ministrations, Jaskier nodded his assent. “How do you want me?” </p><p>***</p><p>“Ah, ah, ah, ah.” Jaskier lay half-reclined on his front, a pillow tucked under his hips to raise them up. He ground his cock into the linen and let out a seemingly involuntary grunt with every drag and glide of Geralt’s fingers inside him. A slippery sheen of oil coated the valley of his arse, shiny droplets mingling with sweat and dripping down onto the sheets below. </p><p>“Ready for another?” Geralt enquired, enjoying the sight of the bard’s back muscles twitching as she smoothed both fingers across his prostate in a rolling motion. The strap-on was already buckled into place—the loosest setting just barely fit around the powerfully built muscles of her thighs—riding across to curl under her buttocks. The hand that was not inside Jaskier was occupied with spreading a layer of oil over the smooth surface of the wooden cock positioned at the harness’s centre. </p><p>“Ah, yes! Give me more!” Jaskier raised his hips a little, chasing the sensation as Geralt ever-so-slowly withdrew from him. “Noooo, wait, don’t take them out; that’s the opposite of what I want. Ugh, Geralt, why do you insist on torturing me?” He dropped back down onto the pillow and let out a sulky moan.</p><p>Geralt’s smile was a little feral as she took in the sight of the man splayed before her, rim blushing red and sheened with oil as he lay relatively quiescent, waiting for her to take action. “Who was lecturing me about the value of patience not so long ago?” </p><p>“No idea what you’re talking about,” Jaskier blithely denied her accusation. “Sounds like something only an utter fool would say. Now are you going to put your fingers back inside me or do I have to do it mys-eeeeeeelf, ahhhh, oh yes!” The word rose then broke with a high-pitched crack as Geralt complied with his demand, three fingers stretching him wide.</p><p>In no time at all Jaskier was writhing helplessly against the pillow and Geralt removed her fingers once more, disregarding the protesting noise Jaskier made as she lined up against his hole. The fine-grained wood overlaid with oil slipped into place and the wide cockhead breached him. She paused a moment to draw in a breath and ensure Jaskier’s scent indicated no discomfort, then moved forward again in a steady motion, not stopping until the leather spanning the base of the cock was pressed against Jaskier’s sac.</p><p>“Ohhh, so full,” Jaskier moaned. “Geralt, you’re stretching me so wide on your cock.”</p><p>“You’re taking it so well, Jaskier.” Geralt experimented with a few tentative thrusts before settling into a steady rhythm of thrust and withdraw, the muscles in her hips and arse flexing.</p><p>The bard’s commentary devolved into a series of wordless noises of approval, spiked with an occasional higher pitched addition as the curved length of cock rolled across the sweet spot deep inside him.</p><p>For her part, Geralt found herself murmuring encouragement. Her gaze was trained on Jaskier’s arse, strong hands cradling his hips as he pushed back to meet her thrusts. Each time the wooden cock speared inside him she felt her own arousal ramp up. She was so absorbed in watching the passage of the cock that she almost missed it when Jaskier tucked a hand underneath himself, gripping his cock and stroking along the length several times before groaning out an almost pained-sounding noise of relief as the earthy scent of his come spilled into the air around them, wrapping the pair in a cloud of hazy lust.</p><p>Geralt thrust once more, just for the pleasure of watching the cock spread Jaskier so sweetly, then carefully withdrew. As Jaskier collapsed in an ungainly heap below her, she unbuckled the straps around her thighs. The leather had carved reddened lines into her flanks but she disregarded the marks, tossing the strap-on to the side as she sat back on her heels, spreading her thighs wide to make room for the heel of her left hand rubbing against her clit. Seeing Jaskier looking utterly wrecked and knowing she’d done that to him had her muscles tensing and breath coming out in an extended moan of ecstasy. </p><p>Muscles trembling a little from exertion, Geralt stretched out alongside Jaskier, both of them working to recover their breath. Jaskier blindly reached out a hand across his back, waving it near Geralt’s side until she reached out and entwined their fingers. Lifting her arm across his back, he kissed the pale, scarred knuckles.</p><p>Geralt accommodated the new position by hiking a leg up to rest against the lower swell of his backside, foot curving to tuck between his thighs. She pressed her face into the back of his neck and breathed in the warm, soft scent of his happiness. The quiet rumble of sound in Geralt’s chest was reminiscent of a purr. “Thank you, Jaskier. You…I mean…it was…I liked it. A lot.” </p><p>“Oh, Geralt, thank <em>you</em>. It was a singularly enjoyable experience and I’m glad I could share it with you.” Jaskier huffed out a brief laugh, the movement lifting the arm Geralt had slung across him. “Should you wish to experiment further, consider me your willing subject.”</p><p>In the quiet that followed, Geralt considered the difference in appearance of each of their hands. Hers pale, strong, scarred from a lifetime of fighting monsters. Jaskier’s mobile, calloused from his trade, and strong in their own way.</p><p>Jaskier looked at the clothes and various items scattered all over his room and sighed. He tightened his grip on Geralt’s hand briefly, then released it and turned over onto his back so they could face each other. Geralt lifted her weight to allow him to rearrange their positions, rolling onto her own back to lie at his side. “Geralt? What’s next for you?”</p><p>Geralt shrugged. “I’ll collect Roach from the inn in the morning and we’ll be on our way.” She pondered in which regions the contracts might be more plentiful at this time of year. “Now that I’m healed,” she paused to squeeze Jaskier’s hand, wordlessly conveying her thanks, “I need to seek out more contracts.”</p><p>“I myself am preparing to return to the road too.” Jaskier gestured around them at the detritus of what had been his packing efforts. “I’m not one to stay in any given place for long.”</p><p>“Hmmm,” Geralt replied.</p><p>The silence spread between them. </p><p>Then, “Which direction will you take?”</p><p>***</p><p>Buckling her saddlebags into place and checking the girth of Roach’s saddle one more time, Geralt mounted and threaded the reins through her gloved fingers. “Here we go then, little fish,” she said, squeezing her legs around the mare’s sides and directing her towards the gates of Oxenfurt. </p><p>Jaskier paced by their side, the strap of his travelling satchel overlaid by that for his lute case. His expansive arm gestures and excited chatter marked their progress alongside the clip-clop of Roach’s hooves beating out a steady rhythm against the ground. As they exited the gates, Jaskier tipping an imaginary hat to the guards on duty, Geralt drew in a deep breath, savouring the bard’s now-familiar scent of honey and rosin.</p><p>This time when Geralt and Roach set out on the path, they had company.</p>
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